Sea of Sunflowers
by lavenderjacquard
Summary: "Why are your eyes two different colors?" she asked. "Did you have two yellow eyes and drink too much water? Or were both eyes blue and you ate too many sunflowers?"


"Why are your eyes two different colors?"

That was the first thing she'd asked Obanai at the headquarters, when he'd first been accepted as a Pillar. It was summer then; the air was thick with moisture and the cicadas were deafening. There was a fine sheen of sweat on her forehead, but he felt cold.

"Did you have two yellow eyes and drink too much water? Or were both eyes blue and you ate too many sunflowers?"

It was a stupid question, and he'd told her so, but the woman looked down and murmured that his eyes were beautiful. No one had ever said that before. Obanai knew he was the last thing anyone should consider beautiful. He was disgusting, marred, a motley of scars and clashing colors. In contrast, the pink and green of her hair seemed to coexist in harmony.

The woman retreated behind the other Pillars, strong men that could strangle him with ease, and covered her face with her hands. However, the motion wasn't quick enough so that he couldn't see her lips curl into a small smile. Obanai didn't know what the smile was for, so he assumed she was laughing at him. She must have found him pathetic and weak like the others did.

The next day the air was even heavier and swollen gray clouds threatened rain. Obanai stood motionless on the balcony and felt the bandages masking his face squeeze tighter and tighter until he thought he might suffocate. It would be easier to breathe the thick air without them, but he refused to remove them and reveal himself.

The woman from earlier appeared from the side of the building, lugging four buckets filled with well water. Mitsuri, he remembered; one of the other Pillars had told him her name. She appeared to have no problem at all with the weight of the buckets, but struggled to keep them from knocking together. Water dripped down their sides. Obanai considered helping her, but thought better of it; no need to get involved in needless conversation.

Thunder rumbled in the distance and Mitsuri looked up at the stone-colored sky. She exhaled, long and deep, but flinched when the first drop of rain hit her forehead. Obanai shook his head. The past few days had been humid and damp and she should have known it was going to rain soon, but then she laughed a little like it came right when she'd expected it.

More drops fell and splashed against the wooden railing. He stepped back into the shadows to avoid getting wet, but continued to watch her. Despite the fact that it was the middle of summer and the leaves on the trees were a saturated green, her hair looked even brighter. The color was striking and made him uncomfortable for a reason he couldn't quite articulate; he wondered if it had something to do with the fact that all the women in his family had hair black as ink.

Suddenly there was another crack of thunder, this time closer and so loud Obanai felt the vibration through his feet. Mitsuri jumped in alarm, dropping the buckets, and water splashed out onto the already-soaked ground. She shrieked and then groaned in annoyance, loud enough that Obanai thought everyone in the compound could hear it.

The rain was pouring now, relentless, and the drops were as big as coins. Mitsuri smoothed her wet hair away from her face, revealing a look of deep concentration. Then her expression brightened and she laughed, smile wide enough that Obanai could see her small white teeth. No one in his family ever smiled like that.

Mitsuri turned the buckets upright to gather the raindrops and walked a few steps away as not to block them. She lifted her face to the rain and extended her arms, flattening her palms like she wanted to catch the rain herself. Obanai's eyes narrowed. He realized that while Mitsuri looked completely ridiculous she had a look of awe on her face like she could stand in the storm forever.

Obanai was in the downpour and his clothes completely drenched before he realized what he was doing. His legs ran towards her by their own accord.

"What are you doing?" His voice came out petulant, and heat rushed to his cheeks.

"Catching the rain! I think this'll taste better than well water," Mitsuri said. She didn't seem to notice his tone.

He snorted. "That'll take hours! You're going to catch a cold."

"But it feels so good! Here, try it." Mitsuri grabbed one of his hands and Obanai was so surprised at how warm her touch was he forgot to jerk his hand back. She curled his fingers away to reveal the crisscross of scars on his palm, but she did not recoil, and instead she brought his flat hand up to the sky.

"I love rain in the summer, it's so refreshing," she said.

Obanai didn't respond, because he was distracted by the coldness in his fingers that was not from the rain but because she'd taken her own hand away.

* * *

Ever since that summer downpour Obanai focused on slaughtering demons and ignored the tiny seed that buried itself in his heart and twined its roots around his chest. It was threatening to burst into bloom, and he dreaded the day when his love would not be returned and the flower would wither and die.

He'd already killed fifty demons for the fifty members of his family, and he passed one hundred as red leaves dropped from the trees. Fifty was not enough, nor a hundred. He doubted even a thousand would repay the debt. But part of him knew that while he still killed those demons to cleanse himself of his sins, he also kept killing to stave off the decaying souls of his family who threatened that tiny blossom of love with their soiled hands and torn fingers.

On a chilly fall day, Obanai sat and watched Mitsuri inhale her fifteenth bowl of rice and start on the next with the same enthusiasm she had the first. He looked down at the empty space before him and pondered what to say to her that wasn't strange or awkward, but came up with nothing. He always worried that Mitsuri found it strange that he liked to sit with her while she ate, but never touched anything himself. He couldn't eat with anyone else around, but she didn't seem to mind. She let him bask in her light.

Bowl empty, Mitsuri set down her chopsticks and looked at Obanai. "You know, I dyed my hair black once. I looked so ridiculous!"

Obanai's mouth dried and his hands felt icy. He knew he was ugly, and she had to know too, because how could a slimy snake with mismatched eyes be anything but hideous?

"It suits you much better. You look so mysterious! I wish I looked that cool," she said with a sigh. Obanai watched her pick up the stacks of bowls and walk back to the kitchen. He heard her declare that she was finished to whomever was inside, and her footsteps faded.

He looked down again and covered his mouth with his hands, because his smile was threatening to crack though the bandages.

That night Obanai found himself in a field of sunflowers so vast he couldn't see where it ended. There was only a sea of yellow and the great expanse of blue sky, unmarred by clouds and smooth as glass. His bandages circled his neck instead of his mouth, and the sunshine felt warm and soft on his scarred face.

He turned at the sound of footsteps and Mitsuri appeared from the sunflowers, petals brushing her face, in a pink kimono that made her eyes look so vibrant they reminded him of apples. The tart, sweet taste flooded his mouth.

She stood next to him, but she was frowning, and her green eyes narrowed as she raised one hand to his face.

The taste of apples soured. The sun turned harsh, burning, like it would dry his skin into something scaly and peeling. His scars tingled, ready to come alive and drag themselves across his face to rip his head in two and remind him that he would never escape the shame and violence that clung to him like a foul odor.

Mitsuri touched one side of his face, unflinching, trailing the scar from his ear to the edge of his lips. The tingling sensation disappeared and all he could feel was her fingertip. It felt like a butterfly landed on his face and could be knocked away by a puff of wind or his own ragged breath. Her touch was so unlike the probing fingers of his mother, his aunts, those women who cosseted him. He feared that his rotten skin could poison her too.

To his surprise, she raised her other hand to his face and brushed the marred skin with her thumb. She whispered something he couldn't hear, and smiled softly.

Obanai awoke with the clear singular thought that if he died protecting Misturi, his life might not be a complete waste.

* * *

While Obanai wrapped himself in blankets and extra haori to keep himself warm, Mitsuri trod through the snow in sandals and seemed utterly impervious to the cold.

"If you don't cover your feet, you'll get sick," he told her as they trudged down the mountain path to the tiny village near the bay for fish. The trail, edged by tall trees laced with snow, was silent, and the sound of his voice marred the fresh beauty of the forest.

"I never get sick," she said with a laugh, and kicked at the powder as if to prove it.

He wanted to protest, tell her that sickness liked to creep up on people and ensnare them when they felt strong, but didn't. Why would she listen to him, a man kept caged nearly all his life? He knew nothing of the world.

The pair reached the village at dusk and the sleepy town was preparing to tuck itself in for the night. They'd set out late because Mitsuri couldn't find her favorite haori, the one the color of budding leaves with glossy embroidery that Obanai once traced with his fingers when she wasn't around. He pretended to be stern and chided her, but secretly didn't mind.

Right as they passed through the village gate, Mitsuri sneezed. Obanai spun to face her and realized too late that his eyebrows had raised in concern.

"Don't give me that look! It's the salty air!" She frowned, expression determined, and sneezed again.

Obanai peeled off, claiming that Himejima had requested a specific pair of prayer beads. Mitsuri didn't question him and darted off towards the sea. After watching her disappear around a rickety building, Obanai wandered through the cramped alleyways, trying to resist the ridiculous thought that planted itself in his mind and forced his legs forward. He was failing. The idea stopped him when he came across a shop that still had its door open.

The shopkeeper looked up when he entered, a look of irritation flashing in his eyes. "Sir, we're about to close for the night-"

"Socks. I need socks," Obanai said.

This is stupid, absurd, I hope he's out of socks so I won't disappoint myself, he thought.

"Err…" The man turned and pointed towards the back. "I think I have some back there. Be quick about it."

Both relieved and terrified, Obanai stalked to the back of the shop. He rustled through the pile of patterned overcoats and scratchy wool scarves until something caught his eye. It was green fabric, an almost garish color that was flashy and vibrant while the others were lifeless. He pulled the fabric out and found that they were long socks. He let himself smile because his back was to the shopkeeper.

"These," Obanai said, turning and rummaging in his pocket for money. "How much?"

"Uh...you sure you want those?" The man's eyebrows furrowed. "If you want to look like a frog, be my guest."

Obanai stared into the shopkeeper's eyes using the full force of his mismatched eyes and the man dropped his gaze.

"Okay, okay, I should be thanking you for taking them off my hands, I guess," he said. "Though, they are women's socks."

"I know."

"Huh!" The shopkeeper chortled and his entire body jiggled. "Takes a hell of a woman to pull those off."

"She is," Obanai said as he exited the shop.

He found Mitsuri at the docks and watched her back for a moment as she wavered between the varieties of fish. She poked at the eels' slimy bellies and shrieked when one came alive and flopped in her direction. Noticing him, she turned and took a dramatic gulp of air. "Don't you love the air here? It's so tangy! One day I want to live near the sea."

Obanai inhaled too and felt the salt prickle his nose. It was fresh and invigorating.

"Um...here," he said, shoving the socks at her. He turned away from her to stare at the slate gray ocean, and wondered if instead he should just walk right in.

"Oh, Iguro! You didn't have to," she said. Obanai still didn't have the courage to look her in the eyes, and for a moment he imagined that there was a look of embarrassment on her face, maybe even disgust.

The words in his mouth were heavy as iron. "I...wanted to," he said. But he felt Mitsuri take the socks and he turned to face her as his grip loosened. She looked surprised, but not like she'd stumbled upon some dead thing. It was like she'd discovered a tiny sprout poking through the snow.

Mitsuri kicked off her sandals and rolled the socks up her legs. "They're perfect," she said, flexing her ankle and pointing her toes. "I'm so warm, so warm I could melt ice!" She laughed and closed her eyes. Obanai took the opportunity to take in her flushed cheeks and the joyful laughter that he'd caused.

* * *

Winter broke into spring, and where there should have been the scent of pollen and cherry blossoms dancing in the air, the sharp stench of blood choked Obanai.

The Pillars swirled around Muzan, desperate and struggling like birds in a typhoon. Mitsuri laid in a broken heap on the ground. The blood pouring out where her ear used to be coated her pink hair and gave her a sickly hue. It seemed horribly wrong. Tears streamed down her lovely face and she cried that she could do more, that she would do more, and that she refused to be useless.

But she was not useless. She gave Obanai a reason to keep slithering along on the ground towards the sun, and life was not worth continuing in the dark.

Obanai had not yet loved Mitsuri in the spring, when rivers shattered their icy prisons and seeds once hibernating stretched themselves towards the light. Spring was a time of rebirth, renewal, and if Obanai did his duty and died to protect Mitsuri, then maybe the gods would take pity on his sad little life and grant him a new one. It would be fresh and clean, without scars or death or killing. He wanted to be like the snakes he imitated, able to shed his old skin and leave behind the dirt that clung to him.

In this new life he would stand before her in the sea of sunflowers, skin smooth and without his past sins and the trails of grease left behind by the hands of his family. He wondered briefly what color both his eyes should be, but imagined Mitsuri would tell him that he was in the perfect place, because one eye matched the sunflowers and the other mirrored the sky.

Mitsuri's indecisive, he thought as he surged towards Muzan. She might want them to stay the way they are.


End file.
